


For We Saw His Star When it Rose

by Libbyfay



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Christmas Spirit, Crowley Created the Stars (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), First Christmas, Good Omens Holiday Swap, He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Kinda, Light Angst, Multi, Nativity Play, Quote: We're On Our Own Side (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Song: We Three Kings, Supportive Aziraphale (Good Omens), The Fall (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Warlock Steals the Show, appreciation and love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28180731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Libbyfay/pseuds/Libbyfay
Summary: “It’s just, correct me if I’m wrong, dear… But, I can’t help but notice that you’re rather… shall we say, ‘determined’ about this little project.”After all these years, there were some things they just didn’t talk about.  Crowley never spoke about the Fall, had never mentioned his origins, except for just that once, in Bethlehem.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Nanny Ashtoreth & Warlock Dowling & Brother Francis
Comments: 15
Kudos: 21
Collections: Grow Better / Scribbling Vaguely Downwards - Holiday Swap '20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snowfilly1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowfilly1/gifts).



> Teen rating for some profanity. The rest is fluff.

“Mother…Fffch!” Crowley sputtered and flicked his wrist, trying to free his fingers. Increasingly frustrated, he whipped his whole arm around, to no avail. He considered rubbing the adhesive off on his pants. No, he realized, he was wearing a skirt. It was a nice skirt, too. Damn. 

If he’d had a free hand… but he was not (NOT) going to set down the other pieces until they were dry. Crowley cast a quick glance over at the angel. Aziraphale was engrossed in his book, so the demon wiped his fingers on the upholstered side of the armchair. The friction freed up his thumb and forefinger and probably left a smear of sticky residue. He’d deal with that later. 

Now, he turned his attention back to the alignment he’d been working on. 

“Piece of shit!” He shouted and threw his prototype across the room in a gesture that would have impressed Warlock. Startled, Aziraphale finally took an interest.

“Can I assist you with something?” the angel inquired.

“I’m starting over!” Crowley exclaimed. He waved the bottle of glue around. “They call this ‘industrial strength’? What a load of bollox!” 

“Actually, these are craft supplies, dear.”

“Goddamned substandard equipment, is what I’m saying. Every fucking time!” 

Aziraphale sighed with forbearance. “Is that language really necessary, to your… creative process?” 

Crowley scowled back, effectively rebuked, but not silenced. “You’re sodding right, it is.” But this was spoken a little more quietly, before Crowley went back to rummaging around in a big purple bag from Hobycraft. 

Aziraphale turned his attention back to his book, but he must have been keeping one eye on the demon because a few moments later he snapped the book closed again and demanded, “What is that?”

“Nothin!” Crowley answered, immediately dropping his hand back down into the bag.

“Crowley…” The prim voice held a note of warning.

The demon squirmed a little, but managed to put in an impressive performance, holding out for almost a full ten seconds under Aziraphale’s gaze, before mumbling, “Sparkles.”

Aziraphale sat up straighter. “Oh, no you don’t! I _absolutely_ draw the line at glitter.”

“Well, I _absolutely_ …” Crowley mimicked the angel’s enunciation perfectly, “need sparkles for this project!” 

“Then, you can absolutely do this project elsewhere.” Aziraphale hadn’t budged from his spot, but he seemed more imposing somehow. He was an Angel of the Lord, and he would countenance no debate on this point. “This is my house-“

“Shack.” Crowley clarified. 

“-my house, and you will not be applying glitter in here! You are a confirmed menace with that human tool of destruction and chaos. You remember last time?”

The demon’s jaw worked, but no answer was forthcoming. 

“Well, last time was the _last_ time!” 

“Fine!” Crowley huffed. He brought the three-pack of metallic glitter into view and surrendered it, an arm’s length away, on Aziraphale’s workbench. Aziraphale settled himself against the wall, with his legs at a right angle in front of him on the tiny cot. 

As Crowley continued sorting the items from his shopping bag, he fell to muttering to himself. “Fuck it…all these years… I’m supposed to… gives a shit… How’d they like it… not even sparkles… one last fucking huzzah.”

The demon seemed oddly upset in the wake of what wasn’t even their first tête-à-tête of the evening. Really, Crowley couldn’t have expected a different outcome on the subject of glitter, but Aziraphale didn’t like the frustration and note of self-abuse in Crowley’s tone. 

“I just don’t understand how all this falls on your shoulders, dear.” Aziraphale said with more compassion. “Surely, this is something his parents should be helping with.”

At the mention of Tad and Harriet, Crowley had to fight the urge to spit. “You mean His Grace, and the Desperate Housewife! Since when did they ever take an interest? You want to leave something this important to _them?_ ”

“Well, I suppose your right.” Aziraphale conceded. “Selfishness is a swamp that sucks in all and gives out nothing.”

With a grunt of agreement, Crowley pulled out two boxes of Christmas lights and suddenly seemed a little lost. He looked around the room.

“I’m afraid the cottage doesn’t come with many outlets. But there’s one underneath the workbench, there.” Aziraphale pointed.

“’Course.” Resigned, Crowley got down on his hands and knees to find the outlet. His skirt was a bit tight for this position. “Enjoying the view, angel?” he asked, before plugging in a string of lights that filled the room with a cheerful glow. 

“Oh, certainly!” Aziraphale answered. “The lights, I mean. They’re… quite lovely.”

“Eh. They’re ok.” Crowley got back up to his feet and unspooled a length of Christmas lights between his hands, considering. “Of course, they’re spaced too far apart. And they’re gonna need a blinking pattern.”

“Are those the sort that blink? I love those.”

“Little bastards will be, if they know what’s good for them,” the demon said, menacingly. At which point, the lights began to blink out a steady S.O.S.

“Come to that, dear, why don’t you just miracle something up? It would certainly be easier than all this mess and bother.”

Crowley’s gaze jumped immediately to Aziraphale, his expression suddenly stony behind his glasses. “You want me outa your shack, angel?” 

“Don’t be silly! Your creative process, and the… colorful language… it requires, would be even less appropriate up at the big house. I’m just wondering why you don’t use a demonic miracle to make things easier on yourself.”

“Craftsmanship.” Crowley explained. “You’re not the only one with standards.” Then, he snapped his fingers and a pile of raw cardboard appeared at his feet, a box-cutter in his hand. Crowley rucked up his skirt around his thighs and plopped himself down on the floor.

Aziraphale watched Crowley’s exacting measurements and almost frantic cutting along the lines he’d traced. “Crowley,” the angel paused, choosing his words carefully. “Is there… anything you want to talk about?”

“No. Why?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe there’s something this... brings up for you?”

“Look,” Crowley said, without glancing up, “I didn’t do it.”

Aziraphale tilted his head in confusion. “Do what?”

But Crowley didn’t answer. He seemed so preoccupied that he might not have even heard the question or his own response. After a few minutes, he held two pieces of cardboard up to the light, comparing their angles. Scowling, he then placed a third, much larger piece on his lap and tried to fit the three together. The resulting partial shape was reminiscent of the early stages of constructing a geodesic dome. Whipping out a ruler, Crowley measured something and was apparently displeased with the result. He made a sound of frustration, and the offending piece of cardboard suddenly incinerated to ash under his touch. Without pause, the demon began measuring and cutting once more.

Aziraphale waved a hand, to disperse the smoke from his nostrils. “It’s just, correct me if I’m wrong, dear… But, I can’t help but notice that you’re rather… shall we say, ‘determined’ about this little project.”

“It’s a fucking vendetta, is what it is!” 

“Ah.” Aziraphale knew he probably shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t pry. After all these years, there were some things they just didn’t talk about. “But… I was thinking there might be some reason for the vendetta. You can talk to me, you know.”

Crowley gave the angel a strange look from behind his glasses, at once vulnerable and frustrated and a million miles away. Then it was gone. “How ‘bout, instead of chatting bollox, you give me hand?”

Aziraphale was momentarily taken aback. “You’d like my help?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, dramatically enough to be unmistakable, even with the glasses. “Here! Hold this piece with this piece at a 45-degree angle, till the glue dries, will you?” 


	2. Chapter 2

After all these years, there were some things they just didn’t talk about. Crowley never spoke about the Fall, had never mentioned his origins, except for just that once, in Bethlehem. 

***

Aziraphale was keeping a solitary watch over the Holy Family. He stood outside the manger and repeated his orders over and over to himself. He was going to do his job perfectly, this time. 

So far, so good. 

He’d overseen the journey, which had been long and hard. His feet hurt. 

He’d gone on ahead, reaching Bethlehem ahead of his charges, and then he had stalwartly (and rather heartlessly) ensured that no rooms would be available when they arrived. It was all supposed to take place in a stable. God knows why! So, Aziraphale had arranged for the most comfortable “stable” experience that humans could wish for. He’d provided miraculously clean linens and made sure that the water in the trough was as clear as a mountain spring. The animals were docile and quiet, and they kept the space warm. 

He’d settled Mary down on miraculously comfortable piles of straw, rolled up his sleeves and birthed the baby, himself. 

Well, that was unfair. Mary had done most of the work, and Joseph had… well… Joseph had been there. And Gabriel would no doubt point out that he had planned it, ordered it and delegated this important assignment to Aziraphale, in the first place. So, in the end, maybe Aziraphale hadn’t done much of note. 

The angel’s job, at this point, was simply to stand guard. Gabriel was likely to show up soon, to check on the progress of the operation. He would probably ask for a report after the wise men did their bit. Or, Gabriel might show up _before_. That was the trouble with surprise inspections. 

So, no matter how grateful Joseph and Mary were, and no matter how cute the baby was, Aziraphale was determined to be a monolith of professional distance from here on in. He didn’t go back inside to hold the baby or share in the warmth of human companionship. 

From a distance, he saw a dark shape approaching across the dunes. Aziraphale squinted. He’d expected the wise men to be riding camels, but this was just one lone figure, moving sinuously and just visible against the stars.

“Oh, no.” Aziraphale muttered. This was the last thing he needed right now. The Savior had been on the earth for less than 48 hours, and already trouble was apparently drawn like a magnet. 

Crawley wasn’t even trying to disguise his approach; he was just swaggering out of the desert. When he was close enough, the warm light from behind Aziraphale lit up the demon’s familiar features. 

“What’s up, Aziraphale?” He smiled, seeming far too confident of a warm reception. 

This was no time for idle banter. “Begone,” the angel said in a deeper voice than he usually used.

“Hey, at least ask nicely!”

Aziraphale rephrased. “Begone… foul serpent.”

“Huh.” Crawley stood back, taking stock of the angel and the humble stable behind him. “Since when are you all Guardian-of-the-Gate, again? Something good must be going on.”

“Not a thing.”

“Hm… that’s not the way I heard it.” 

“Why? What did you hear?” Aziraphale snapped out, too quickly, and then he recovered himself. “You didn’t hear a thing! This is a top-secret operation.”

“I might have heard, through the grapevine, as it were… That there’s some kind of ‘forgiveness-thing’ going on.” He leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially, “And I want in!"

Aziraphale was so startled that he couldn’t respond for a moment. The demon had never expressed any regret about his Fallen state. Could Crawley really be asking what it sounded like he was asking? It seemed impossible. It couldn’t be genuine. 

“What makes you think this is for YOU?” That had come out rather harsh. 

Crawley arched an eyebrow. “I thought it was supposed to be for _everybody._ ”

This tested Aziraphale’s theological understanding, as no one had fully explained what kind of end result they should be expecting from all this. “Well, I’m not sure about that. Technically, I think... But, not for demons. Obviously.” The demon looked puzzled. No, scratch that. In fact, he looked rather hurt. “Unless,” Aziraphale hedged. “I mean… are you… repentant?”

“Repentant?” Crawley screwed up his nose in distaste. “No, course not! But,” he reasoned, “if there’s carte-blanche forgiveness on offer, I wasn’t gonna turn it down.”

“Well, clever as that line of thinking might be. It’s not scheduled to take effect for another 30 years, or so. He’s just a baby.”

Crawley’s face lit up. “A baby? Lemme see!”

“No.” He folded his arms over his chest. “No one is getting near that baby, except of course, the three wise men! They’re scheduled.”

“I’m a wise man!” Crawley said automatically and rose to his tiptoes in an effort to peer past Azriaphale’s shoulder, into the byre beyond. 

“You are neither,” the angel declared. 

“Come on, Aziraphale!” He whined. “I tell you; I’ve got a good feeling about this. I’m good with kids! That’s probably why I’m back in the loop, after all these years.”

“What on earth are you talking about, Crawley? You are _not_ supposed to be here.”

“Then, how do you explain THAT?” The demon pointed triumphantly up at the night sky. “That brilliant baby is leading the way straight to this spot!” 

“Oh!” Aziraphale looked up at the particularly brilliant star that Gabriel had explained would herald the birth of the Savior. It twinkled and seemed to shift and refract into many different colors. “Sorry, Crawly, that’s the Star of Bethlehem.” Aziraphale was relieved to be back on-script. “I can see how you became confused. It’s directed to travel on a unique course through the sky in order to herald the birth. The star is supposed to lead the wise men here, to deliver their gifts. It’s all part of the Plan.”

“What?” Crawley leaned back, squinting in confusion. “Unique? You bet, it is! Aziraphale, that’s my star!” 

“Actually, I’m afraid that it’s technically the Archangel Gabriel’s star. You see, he’s been Project Manager over this whole operation, since day-one.” 

Crawley’s mouth dropped open. He looked up at the star and back at Aziraphale as the pieces fell into place. “Gabriel? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

“Oh, yes. I mean, he is.” Aziraphale went over the project task list in his head. “Gabriel was in charge of the message, and… the, um… _initiation_ of certain events. He set up the signs, placed the star in the sky. He gave me this assignment. I… came along… you know, looked out for them, with the birth and everything. And now I’m guarding against… well, against you. And Gabriel will be along later, to evaluate the results, and he’ll report-” 

Through all this, Crawley was becoming more and more agitated, his face darkening. Unable to hold it in another moment, he shouted, “That wanker is taking credit for MY star?”

“Keep your voice down!” Aziraphale scolded in hushed tones. “The baby…”

“Oh, mustn’t wake the baby,” Crawley mocked. “You mean, the baby I’m not allowed to see? That MY star is apparently good enough to herald the birth of? For the forgiveness-thing, for which I’m not eligible? That brown-nosing weasel has gone too far this time! Pulling MY star out of whatever closet they’d stuck it in, dusting it off and passing it off as his own work.” Then, seeing an opportunity for camaraderie, he poked the angel in the chest. “Not to mention, that _you_ birthed the baby! You know, we’re both getting screwed here, Aziraphale! Me more than you, I think, but still!”

Aziraphale smoothed the front of his robes, self-consciously. “I’m perfectly content with my part in-“

“But _you_ were asked! Well, I mean, I guess you were probably ordered. Or at least notified, God damn it!” Crawley threw his hands skyward. “Bunch of hypocrites get to plagiarize my creativity left and right!” 

Aziraphale frowned. That couldn’t be right. Heaven wouldn’t have used a star created by one of the Fallen, certainly not to advertise such an important miracle. The angel put on his most placating smile, “I’m sure you’re mistaken, Crawley.” 

“Oh, no! An artist knows their own work! Plus, it was this whole _thing,_ at the time.” The demon started pacing back and forth, wobbling angrily. “Not likely to forget about that! I was damn good, and I was testing something new. Thinking outside the box, you know. Keep things interesting. And that puppy was super sparkly!” He flailed an arm in the direction of the brightest star. “Extra hot, extra sparkles! But nobody appreciated it.” He cast a glance at Aziraphale and was disappointed to find that the angel was, at that moment, looking off into the desert. “Nobody _really looked_ at it,” Crawly said pointedly and then continued pacing. “They said… They said it didn’t work right, with the… other stars. It stood out too much. The orbit, I mean. It had its own direction. It kinda… didn’t follow the rules.” Then, petulantly, Crawley added, “They said it wasn’t a ‘team player’.”

Aziraphale finally looked at the demon, dark robes against the dark desert night. His shoulders were hunched, his golden eyes flashed with defiance and a hint of something that could have been regret. The Star of Bethlehem twinkled impressively over his head. 

For a moment, Aziraphale forgot his assigned role. “Crawley…I- I’m sorry.” It was a dangerous slip of empathy, given the importance of this project.

“Yeah, well.” The demon scuffed his sandal in the dirt. “Anyway, that’s why I thought it was a sign, maybe.”

“For you?”

“Who else?”

Aziraphale shook his head and tried to get back on message. “I’m afraid that it will be Written, just as Gabriel will report: It is the star of our Lord, the Christ-child. And, as for the whole forgiveness-thing, I’ll have to check with my superiors about that.”

Crawley sighed, resigned. “Can I, at least… see him?” He looked so tender, so hopeful, that Aziraphale actually considered allowing a demon right up to Mary’s bedside. 

But, then, oh dear! Gabriel’s scornful, violet eyes flashed through Aziraphale’s mind. The Project Manager would be beyond furious if he discovered that a low-ranking angel just stepped aside and allowed Hell to have free access to the Savior! 

That was when Aziraphle decided that this wholly-unauthorized conversation had gone on quite long enough. 

“No, Crawley. You’ll just have to _crawl_ right back where you came from.” 

“But-“ The demon pointed once more at the sparkling star that had brought him here. 

This time, Aziraphale did not look up. “All this nonsense about _His_ star is neither here nor there. It’s my sacred duty to protect the Holy Family, and I will not risk this entire project going down like Eden.”

“Fine.” Crawley backed up a pace, and his lips twisted into an uncharacteristic sneer. “Fine! Don’t even look at my star! Fuck all you bastards! I don’t need anybody’s kudos… or forgiveness... or anything.” He kicked the ground, scattering sand all over Aziraphale’s feet and turned to saunter away. “I’m good at my current job, too; I’ll have you know! I’ll head over to the city and do some proper-demoning. Something really demon-y, that my boss is gonna love!”

Aziraphale watched him walk away, until the demon became indistinguishable from the night. 

Oh, why did Aziraphale always have to get assigned to one of Gabriel’s projects? He was always being left to interpret the Plan on his own, with next to no oversight. 

He fretted and wondered if he’d done his duty correctly, or if he’d botched yet another interpretation of God’s will. Maybe he should have interpreted the forgiveness-thing a little more broadly. The angel twisted his hands in his robes. If Crawley hadn’t been a threat before, he certainly was, now. 

It was just so hard to tell right from wrong, sometimes… especially, whenever the demon was around. 

Aziraphale again kept a solitary watch over the Holy Family. 

He was lonely, but some time before dawn he was joined by a sheep.

When the three wise men finally arrived, Aziraphale welcomed them with a formality of address that everyone seemed to appreciate. 

They explained how the star had led them hence. They proceeded to wax poetic about the star which “followed-not the appointed motions of the heavens”. The star, they said, was truly a miracle and a herald of hope. It was known to them by its brightness and the unique trajectory with which it danced through the sky. Aziraphale sighed and regretted that Crawley was not around to hear his work praised. The angel agreed that the star was, indeed... extra sparkly. 

When Herod’s men came for the children, Aziraphale did his duty and protected the family. Meanwhile, his heart broke to think of all the other innocents being murdered around them in the night. Unfortunately, he didn’t have authorization to use the category of miracle that would have been required to stop an army. No one had mentioned that his assignment might conclude with this kind of bloodbath. Gabriel _couldn’t_ have known to expect this, or he would have given Aziraphale the miracle-clearance necessary to be able to help. 

But doubt niggled at the angel. What if all of this was the result of his unplanned tiff with a demon, on the night after the Savior’s birth? 

In one of his most uncharitable moments, Aziraphale jumped to the conclusion that it must have been Crawley who had informed Herod. Perhaps the murderous soldiers were the result of Crawley’s “proper-demoning”, just to prove a point. 

The angel reported this all, dutifully, to Gabriel who had only seemed interested in cataloging the gifts-given, worshipers-present, etc. Once the Archangel was gone, Aziraphale wept in confusion and anger mixed up with something like regret about the whole sorry business. 

They never spoke about that first Christmas again. What was the point of opening up old wounds? 


	3. Chapter 3

Warlock had never felt prettier or more important. Nanny had told him that he was going to be the star of the whole show. 

“I’m the star. I’m the _star_.” He repeated to himself, to prevent the nervousness that he could feel creeping in. The star was more important than any of the other characters, except maybe the baby Jesus… who was just a doll, anyway, so who cared? 

Warlock’s costume was a bulky geometric shape, but it was light and sturdy. Most importantly, it was also shiny! Nanny had let him pick out the shiny paint, explaining that a celestial body could either reflect light or emit its own light. In the end, they’d decided to go for both!

The complex, five-pointed cardboard prism held his arms out from his body at an awkward angle, but still allowed him to embellish everything with what Nanny had called Jazz-hands. Warlock made sure he could still reach the button for the battery-pack. Check. He still had good range of motion from the waist down, for running and twirling. Check. 

The play started, and Warlock shifted from foot to foot. There were two songs and some other stupid stuff had to happen, first. Then, it would be his cue. 

“I’m the star.” Warlock whispered.

***

Harriet Dowling was seated somewhere in the middle of the auditorium, surrounded by other parents, all with their recording devices prepped. Tad was a very important man, which meant that Tad was MIA.

Miss Ashtoreth and Brother Frances had not been invited to the performance. “An oversight,” Aziraphale had reasoned. “An affront!” Crowley had argued. But they had agreed that they’d both be damned if they were going to miss this. 

Crowley had gotten Warlock ready, with a seriousness reminiscent of a general readying their troops for battle. The costume had several components that needed to be tested separately and together. And Warlock, who could barely sit through a meal without bouncing off the walls, had stayed calm and focused throughout. Nanny had given the boy a few quick reminders and whispered something in his ear, before ruffling his hair and handing him off to his mother.

Even though no one was likely to notice them, Crowley had dressed for the performance in her finest back-seam silk stockings and a pillbox hat with a single black feather. By the same token, because no one was likely to notice them, Aziraphale just came as himself. 

Angel and demon had taken up position at the back of the room. Aziraphale fretted that they might not be able to see or hear very well from there, but Crowley was confident that Warlock would be “playing to the back row”.

As the lights went down and the Christmas music began to play, Aziraphale felt a sudden pang of worry. They’d been so focused on Warlock, recently, that Aziraphale had managed to avoid thinking about the fact that The Christmas Story was something he usually… avoided thinking about. 

He cast a glance over at Crowley, elegant and, for the moment, completely unreadable. How would Crowley handle the bastardization of an event that, he hazarded, carried some bad memories for them both? Well, it was ancient history, wasn’t it? The angel straightened himself up. He could only hope that Crowley had moved past it all and could look back upon the event with equanimity. But when a grumpy little boy came out on stage, leading a radiant little girl on a wheeled wooden donkey, it was Aziraphale who teared up. 

“You ok, angel?” The demon whispered. 

Aziraphale drew out his pocket square and dabbed his eyes. “Oh. Of course, yes.”

Another child narrated the hardships of the journey and their bravery. Crowley remarked casually, “I heard an angel actually traveled with them.” Aziraphale could only nod. 

As Mary and Joseph stopped at the first house to ask for shelter, the stage lights dimmed. Crowley unthinkingly placed her hand on Aziraphale’s arm.

An adult voice began singing slowly, “ _We three kings of orient are. Bearing gifts, we travel afar._ ” Three children in vaguely Persian costumes took their places on the corner of the stage.

“ _Field and fountain, moor and mountain…_ ” Suddenly, Crowley was clenching Aziraphale’s sleeve in her fist. A spotlight shone down, and the antichrist shuffled hesitantly out of the wings, until he stood squinting up into the light. “ _Following yonder star_.” The audience made an appreciative little sound, probably admiring the reflective paint and glitter. 

The next verse was about the gifts of gold. That’s when Warlock’s auto-pilot kicked in, and he went smoothly into the Lindy Hop they’d practiced. Boxy, awkward and undeniably well-rehearsed, Warlock fitted his movements to the music in perfect time. Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile as he shimmied his jazz-hands. With all that flair, no one was able to spare a glance at the kid with the pointy golden hat.

“ _Oh, star of wonder, star of night…_ ” Warlock began to sashay across the stage, and the three wise men followed after, taking stately, self-important steps. 

“ _Star with royal beauty bright._ ” They’d never catch him at this rate, so he made a lap around them, before heading to the very center of the stage, prepared to hit his mark. 

“ _Westward leading, still proceeding..._ ” Warlock threw his head back and spun and spun. 

“ _Guide us with thy perfect light._ ” And, click! 

A ridiculous quantity of LED Christmas lights lit up around the star. They spiraled out from his belly. Lights were glued into every cardboard joint; they sprayed out over his wrists and adorned his forehead like a crown. Warlock was now blinking like a disco, but the smile on his face outshone it all. The boy’s joy was palpable, and along with it, came a crescendo of overwhelming _love._

Startled, Aziraphale looked over at his companion. Crowley, entirely unconscious of her expression, watched the stage with a little smile. She positively radiated warmth and pride. 

The next verse was about the myrrh, but Warlock wasn’t about to give the spotlight up so easily. When the green-robed kid turned to show the audience his gift, the Star of Bethlehem danced directly in front of him. The wise men were visibly frustrated by this chaotic star that didn’t seem to know its place, in the scheme of things. They scowled, perhaps coming to the conclusion that this star wasn’t a team-player. One of the children tried to catch hold of the strings of lights, but Warlock was faster.

Crowley was the first to see the humor in the situation, and as the wise men began to pursue the star in earnest, she let out a great peal of laughter. The star led a merry chase, crisscrossing the stage in leaps and bounds, always staying just out of reach. 

The wealthy families of spoiled kids suddenly began to enjoy this performance much more than they had expected to. Crowley’s uncensored laughter was a rare and precious thing, and it seemed to give everyone else permission. Soon the whole auditorium was laughing delightedly. Aziraphale found himself laughing too, savoring the familiar flavor of his demon’s unique brand of chaos, mixed with Warlock’s earnest faith that he must, without doubt, be the most important part of the show. 

Only the wise men and the one, somber, adult singer failed to see the humor in the situation. 

“ _Westward leading, still proceeding_...” 

A couple of shepherds got into the action as well, trying to snag the star with their crooks. Warlock absconded with an outstretched shepherd’s crook and used it to knock one the pointiest the hats to the ground. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale tried to sound appalled. “Did you tell him to do that?”

The demon was practically bouncing with glee. “Not me!” She exclaimed. “He’s just getting into the Christmas spirit, angel! Probably your influence, actually.” 

“Mine?”

“Look at him grinning! Certain if he looks sweet enough, he couldn’t possibly get in trouble.” Warlock was indeed grinning from ear to ear, and despite the chaos he was sowing, he did look rather sweet.

“Oh, for goodness sake! I don’t-”

“I wonder where he could have learned that being adorable is the best defense?” 

The song was coming to an end. However, Warlock loved the new direction the play was taking, and he had resolved to keep it up all night. On his next circuit around the stage, he booped the virgin Mary on the nose, which caused her to shout, shrill and indignant, "Who do you think you are?" 

"The STAR!" Warlock shouted back at her, over his shoulder. 

Everyone laughed so loudly at this, that the song ended without fanfare or applause. That's when Mrs. Henderson decided that she had had enough of this, thank you very much, and stepped out of the wings, directly in Warlock's path. He came to an abrupt halt, just before a disastrous collision could occur. The other children (who were, to a one, afraid of the headmistress) stopped running and stared silently. 

Warlock tried his most angelic smile, but it didn't seem to work. He turned, looking desperately for somewhere to run, or perhaps just hoping to catch a glimpse of his Nanny, somewhere in the audience. In that momentary pause, Mrs. Henderson grabbed the boy underneath the rigid armpits of his cardboard costume and hefted him into the air. Crowley booed loudly and hissed like a giant snake in human form.

In his remaining few seconds of glory, as he was being hauled bodily from the stage, Warlock beamed at the audience and frantically shimmied his sparkling hands with an enthusiasm that would have impressed Bob Fosse. 

Children scrambled back to their positions, and the Narrator tried to find her place. A few costume pieces had been lost in the scuffle, but the show must go on.

“So,” Aziraphale whispered. “Is that what happens when a demon coaches the Antichrist into performing at the birth of Christ?”

“Yep!”

“Very… infernal, I’m sure. Of course, Heaven and the headmistress don’t approve, but the result was delightful!”

Crowley bumped their arms in the dark, and said softly, “Thanks for helping with the sparkles, angel.”

Aziraphale had come to accept that there would be no way to eliminate all the glitter from the cottage before Armageddon. He folded his hands in front of him. “Eventually, I came to see your vision. And you were quite right, of course, sparkles were _absolutely_ necessary.”

“Told you!”

The play continued, in a much more predictable manner. Other children got their moment in the spotlight, as each set of characters were mentioned in their turn. Great pomp and circumstance was given to each sequential entry into the manger, as they took turns visiting the baby Jesus. 

“Crowley, I feel I owe you an apology. It’s probably too late… but, well…” This kind of talk made the demon uncomfortable. She kept her eyes on the stage, but Aziraphale pressed on. “I should have let you see the Christ Child. I know you didn’t mean any harm.”

“Tons of harm, actually.” Crowley muttered. “Loads.”

There was a long pause, in which Aziraphale made his skepticism clear. Everyone began singing Silent Night.

Eventually, Crowley said, “I didn’t tell Herod, you know.” 

Aziraphale looked wistful. “Oh, I know that.” It had been centuries later, when the angel had come to realize how ridiculous that original assumption had been. He couldn’t picture Crowley doing anything worse to baby Jesus than tickling him and tossing him around till he threw up. “Eventually, I understood that you’re much too-“

“Demon!” Crowley interrupted, before Aziraphale could accuse her of something ridiculous.

The audience joined in, singing the final chorus, and Aziraphale felt a warmth spreading from his heart, right down to his toes. There was, truly, something magical about all this. It helped to have nearly 2,000 years of distance between himself and the original anxiety. At that moment, he found he could believe the best in everyone, particularly his companion. 

At the close of the performance, Warlock was allowed back on stage to enjoy the applause. He kept his costume's lights off until everyone took their final bow, and then he clicked them back on again, generating one last explosion of cheers and laughter. No one cheered louder than the angel and the demon at the back. Over all the other noise, Warlock could just distinguish their voices. 

The lights came up, and Aziraphale was positively glowing with the Christmas spirit. “A triumph, my dear!”

Crowley helped Aziraphale into his coat. “Best tell that to Warlock.” 

“Oh, I intend to! He’ll find a bouquet waiting for him in his bedroom, this evening. But I intended to compliment the overall vision.”

Crowley shrugged self-consciously, and pushed at her glasses to ensure her eyes were thoroughly hidden. “Not usually what the people in charge are looking for.” 

Aziraphale handed Crowley her purse, and they drifted out of the auditorium, unnoticed by the humans milling around. Filled up by peace and goodwill, the angel found himself saying, “No Starmaker in Heaven could have done better.” He tried to keep his tone casual, despite all the emotion he was feeling. “You see, none of them are able to think outside the box, shall we say.” 

“Is that so?” Crowley murmured as she pulled on her gloves. The night air was crisp; a million stars shone overhead.

“I think so.” Aziraphale went on. They walked out toward the Bentley, which waited for them in a far corner of the school parking lot. “To make something truly creative, you have to be willing to try something new. Willing to stand out… like Warlock was tonight, I mean. And I’ve been thinking... A star that doesn’t follow the rules, seems a fitting way to herald the birth of someone like Jesus. Quite the rebel, Himself. ”

“Yeah, fitting. I guess so.” Crowley unlocked the door on the passenger side. “Suppose it’s a good thing that wanker, Gabriel-”

“No.” Aziraphale interrupted. “Shush.” 

“Ngk?” The demon was surprised into stillness. They faced each other with only the car door between them. 

Aziraphale’s eyes roamed over the demon’s features, the pale line of her neck, the slender black feather that bobbed over that ridiculous hat. They’d changed so much over the millennia, and yet this ageless occult being still looked so very young. Aziraphale thought about Warlock, and how much he needed praise. Sometimes, Aziraphale thought, just knowing he was seen might be all the boy needed to keep on this side of his evil destiny. 

“You made a beautiful star, Crowley. You’re an artist.” Their breath mingled in the air, just visible under the parking lot lights. “And you’re important to the story. I- I do see that.”

Crowley swallowed hard, and she seemed to be fighting the urge to default into some sarcastic joke. Then she sighed, relenting. “So are you, angel. They took the credit, but we both know, that family was safe as houses, under your care.”

“Thank you, dear.” Then, Aziraphale hazarded, “It’s not really that the star _isn’t_ a team player, now, is it?”

Crowley turned away and headed for her side of the car, and Aziraphale worried that he might finally have pushed too far.

“It all depends on how you look at it.” Crowley mused as she opened the driver’s side door. Then, dropping gracefully behind the wheel, Aziraphale heard her say, “Maybe the star's just got a real selective view of _who’s_ on its team.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Let me know what you think!
> 
> This was a joy to write, thanks to the lovely prompt from [Snowfilly1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowfilly1/). You captured my imagination and my heart, and you managed to give me the loveliest holiday season. 
> 
> Thanks also to [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/) for your constant encouragement, and the delight of mysteriously writing Christmas stories that were the same and yet so unique. 
> 
> And of course, I couldn't write without my wife's support. You're my angel! I can't even express how grateful I am for the comfort of this Christmas with you! [Wanderingbard3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderingbard3/), thank you for making holiday snacks while I read this out loud until I got it right.
> 
> Those are three of my favorite authors! Go read their stuff! Like right now!


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